


but the rain never came

by nebulousviolet



Category: Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: (??), Codependency, Gen, isabelle centric but alec pov if that makes sense lmao, lightwood sibling bond ftw, robert lightwood bashing because i WILL murder this man, set between nothing but shadows and the evil we love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulousviolet/pseuds/nebulousviolet
Summary: “But he told Mom about it, and of course she’s on board - you know, probably so she has another excuse as to why she was running around being some kind of Shadowhunter Nazi, as if getting her rocks off on murdering innocent Downworlders wasn’t the real explanation. Between the two of them, they’re making my life a living hell. All they have to do is bring Jace in on it, and they’d have a full live-in set for the massive all-expenses paid guilt trip they’re putting me on.”(or: Isabelle Lightwood really, really does not want to go along with Robert's lesson about the Circle. Alec has a brotherly duty to help his sister out.)
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	but the rain never came

**Author's Note:**

> was rereading tftsa for the #lulz and noticed how in the evil we love isabelle is VEHEMENTLY against robert's plan, and that she keeps mentioning she was 'forced to' go, and, seeing as i spent my weekend making a powerpoint on why i want to kill robert lightwood in cold blood, i was hit with inspiration. this was meant to be a quick lil drabble about isabelle dragging her feet abt being sent away for the week but somewhere along the line of me realising that isabelle was 18 during the evil we love (and ergo, could not have been 'forced' in the literal sense) and that it's highly likely that poor isabelle was asked to go immediately after she returned simon's letter, this got somewhat...away from me. also i'm playing kind of loose and fast with the timeline here but isabelle's birthday is may 5th so this is ~a month before evil we love, seeing as that's set in the last week of the semester and i'm assuming the academy uses the american school calendar.  
> (title taken from daddy issues by the neighbourhood because i think i'm funny)

“Tell him that I won’t do it,” Isabelle says in lieu of greeting.

It takes Alec five seconds to register that his sister is standing in front of him with a look on her face comparable to the sound of rolling thunder, and in that time she shoulders past him so she can flop sulkily onto the couch. It’s actually a couch today, not a weird chaise lounge or minimalist Nordic ottoman; Magnus is coming dangerously close to expending actual effort on his work today, and the relatively simplistic decor serves as limited evidence. It then takes Alec another five seconds to shut the door and turn back towards the living room, while the dread in his stomach rises to a veritable crescendo.

Because he knows _exactly_ what Isabelle’s talking about, as vague as she might be, and it isn’t something he wants to involve himself in.

“Tell him yourself,” he suggests, with all the practiced flatness of an older sibling, which is apparently the wrong answer.

“I did!” Isabelle explodes, bolting upright. Anger rolls off her in waves; there’s an electric crackle to her, as if she might blow a literal and metaphorical fuse at any given moment. “But apparently _not wanting to do it_ isn’t a good enough reason, as if I didn’t already know that he’s a slimy asshole with a cult mentality-“

“Iz,” Alec cuts off her tirade as gently as possible. Part of him still feels viscerally uncomfortable whenever Isabelle speaks ill of their father - not that she’s _wrong_ , precisely. It’s more so that after years of repressing himself to be what Robert wanted, it still stings to know that Robert Lightwood and his approval wasn’t worth repressing himself _for._ Not that he’s planning on ever telling Isabelle that; it’s not like she needs any more leverage to despise their father. “I don’t see how me saying something would do anything.”

Isabelle scoffs, the slash of her mouth a hard line. Alec thinks, quite privately, that this is not just about her moral opposition to playing the role Robert is asking of her - it’s about who will be waiting for her at Shadowhunter Academy, about a letter that had _also_ driven her to show up on Alec and Magnus’s doorstep, except that time she’d been less angry and more confused. But again, Alec isn’t the type to purposely poke the bear, so he keeps this to himself. “You know how he is now,” she says, balling her hands from where they rest on her lap. “He feels oh-so-guilty about the way he treated you, like that’s the _only_ thing he did wrong. If you tell him to leave me alone, he’ll fall all over himself to prove that he’s changed. Because, I don’t know, what I want just isn’t enough, apparently.”

The thing is, she’s right. For all Robert’s proclamations that he’s going to be better, his relationship with his only daughter might as well be a black hole: it absorbs any light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. On the day their father returned to the New York Institute for the last time to pack up the rest of his things for the move to the Inquisitor’s house in Idris, Isabelle had locked herself in her room for hours, refusing to come out until he was gone. And Robert hadn’t - well, he appeared to have cared a little, but Alec has seen more effort from Lily trying to bait Maia into admitting that she also wanted to murder the nixie who kept selling toadstools in pack territory. Almost as if he’d already given up.

Well, Alec thinks, he’s not making things any better by attempting to force Isabelle to go to Idris, either. If there’s one thing Isabelle hates more than Robert, it’s being made to do something against her will. Combining the two seems like a recipe for disaster

Isabelle stands again, paces the entire length of the sitting room in her biggest, clumpiest boots, and makes a noise that is dangerously close to a sob as she faces the window. Alec goes to his sister - is by her side in the space of five more seconds, but she shrugs off the hand he places on her shoulder, carefully, as though she’s liable to explode. He realises too late that it’s because said shoulders are shaking.

“You’re right,” he says at last, and Isabelle doesn’t give any indication that she’s listening other than the slight tilt of her head. “It’s not right that he’s trying to make you do something you think is wrong. But, Izzy, you’re eighteen in three days. He can’t _make_ you go-“

“Oh, sure, he can’t drag me kicking and screaming,” Isabelle interrupts bitterly, crossing her arms so tightly over her chest that Alec expects one of the many buttons on her skin-tight dress to come flying off. “But he told Mom about it, and of course she’s on board - you know, probably so she has another excuse as to why she was running around being some kind of Shadowhunter Nazi, as if getting her rocks off on murdering innocent Downworlders wasn’t the real explanation. Between the two of them, they’re making my life a living hell. All they have to do is bring Jace in on it, and they’d have a full live-in set for the massive all-expenses paid guilt trip they’re putting me on.”

It’s a lot of words for one overarching point: Alec and Isabelle’s parents are still trying to perform the mental gymnastics that somehow absolve them of all misdeeds, and have deemed Isabelle fit to jump through the hoops. Even Alec, as much as he tries to disengage himself from the tangled web that is the Lightwood family dynamic, can see how that’s fucked up.

“It’s the one thing they can agree on,” Isabelle adds softly. “No wonder it’s completely unhinged.”

The ugly truth of the matter is that Alec has always been more loyal to Isabelle than to either of his parents. An even uglier truth is that, when it boils down to it, he’s not sure if he could say he’s more loyal to _Jace_ than he is to Isabelle; it’s a rare reprieve that Jace and Isabelle are, in the ways that matter, the same person in two different fonts, else things might get very ugly very quickly. It’s not Isabelle’s fault that she’s stuck living with Maryse for the next year, minimum; it’s not her fault that Robert has decided that forcing her to spend a week manipulating the largest group she’s been around that consists of kids her own age is preferable to literally any other teaching method. At eighteen, Alec had never known anything other than his parents’ demands, but eighteen-year-old Isabelle is a war hero with what Alec suspects is severe PTSD and she’s being guilted into what is essentially a parlour trick that benefits nobody. The least he can do, he supposes, is say something.

“I’ll talk to Dad,” and Isabelle’s lip curls at the name Alec refers to Robert with, but the rest of her expression is quietly pleased. “But I can’t promise, Iz. Just - if it gets really bad, you can crash here for a few nights. Magnus hates Dad almost as much as you do; he’ll jump at the chance to have you over if it pisses him off.”

Isabelle wraps her arms around Alec so suddenly and violently that he almost assumes a defensive pose out of habit. “Thank you,” she mumbles into his shoulder, five feet and nine-and-a-half inches of lithe muscle and sheer relief. This is how Alec knows that it _really_ isn’t just about saving her a moral headache. It’s about Simon, and about the fact that Alec’s departure has meant that the sole focus of Maryse’s coldness falls entirely on his baby sister, even if she isn’t exactly a baby anymore. It’s about Alec finally beginning to repay the debt that is Isabelle’s entire adolescence being traded away just to make his life a little easier. “I mean it.”

*

Isabelle’s eighteenth birthday party is held in the Institute’s ballroom (because apparently that exists), which seems a little exclusionary to Alec, but suits the visiting Clave dignitaries just fine. All of the Conclave is in attendance, as well as every travelling Shadowhunter in a three-state radius - Isabelle Lightwood, war hero, can finally exercise her legal right to air her grievances with the Clave in the form of a dissenting Council vote, and everyone wants to catch a glimpse of the birthday girl herself, all trussed up in a blood-red gown that highlights the sharp contrast of Isabelle’s dark hair and ivory skin. Maia is smoking in a corner, a hamburger sitting in her lap, which instantly puts her in Alec’s top five people in the room. Seeing as the other four are Clary, Isabelle, Magnus, and Jace, she’s in good but unsurprising company.

Robert is here, of course, even if Alec is pretty sure that Isabelle’s one request had been for him not to be; appearances take precedence over the birthday wishes of the person everyone’s supposed to be celebrating, apparently. Isabelle, to her credit, is valiantly avoiding him by trapping Jocelyn Fairchild (Garroway? Graymark? Alec will confess that the number of surname changes in his immediate circle of family and friends has made him somewhat lose track) in a conversation by the buffet, which is notable only for the fact that neither of them seem remotely comfortable. It takes Alec a little more courage than he’s willing to admit to finally lock eyes with his father, then turn to Magnus and say, “Do me a favour, and rescue Isabelle.”

Magnus raises his eyebrows. “She’s your sister,” he points out, which isn’t a challenge, but could easily sound like one. “To what do I owe the honour?”

“My father,” Alec says. “I’m going to attempt to negotiate with a terrorist.”

“Oh, Christ,” Magnus says, and glances at the open bar. “Do I have permission to facilitate what is technically underage drinking in the state of New York, and, indeed, every other state?”

“Facilitate whatever you want,” Alec says, and then, because he is feeling particularly brazen, kisses Magnus on the cheek. “Just don’t lead with the tequila.”

Robert visibly tenses when he sees Alec approaching, which would almost be funny if Alec didn’t have the baggage of around eighteen years of childhood trauma. 

“Alec,” he nods by way of greeting. “It’s good to see you.”

Like Alec is a friendly acquaintance, and not a son. Robert Lightwood, for lack of a better word, sucks at reconciliation.

“Thanks,” Alec replies, because he’s not sure he can muster the strength to return the sentiment. It wouldn’t be the truth, anyway. Their relationship might be better, but it is not, in any sense of the word, _good._ “I, uh, need to talk to you. About Isabelle. About this whole Shadowhunter Academy trip that’s happening next month.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alec sees Maia light up another cigarette. With any luck, she’ll start a fire before Alec has to continue this conversation. The beat of silence that passes between Alec and his father - with zero flames - proves that Alec has always been cursed. 

“What about it?” Robert frowns at last. Because, really, it’d be too easy for him to see the error of his ways the moment Alec brings it up. “If you want to join us, I’m sure we can make room.”  
Alec’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head emphatically, ignoring the flash of hurt in Robert’s eyes. “No, that’s not it,” he says quickly. “I’m fine sitting this one out.”

Oh,” Robert says, and there is another awkward pause. Alec glances to the side to check that Magnus is fulfilling his request, and is pleased to note that Isabelle is at least smiling now. Granted, that might more be to do with the several empty shot glasses lined up in front of her than with Alec’s boyfriend’s inherent charm, but he’ll take it. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t-” Alec cuts himself off and takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. “I don’t think making Isabelle go with you is such a good idea. She’s had it really rough the past year, rougher than nearly all of us what with Simon and everything, and I’m not sure that making her spend a week in a school full of strangers fawning over her that she’s supposed to trick, plus her ex-boyfriend who doesn’t remember her, is exactly sensitive.”

Robert’s expression hardens. “This isn’t any of your business, Alexander.”

“Don’t call me that,” Alec snaps on reflex. “I don’t see how it’s any less my business than it is Mom’s, seeing as you’ve recruited her to the cause.”

There’s a barb there, a subtle one; they both know what happened last time Robert and Maryse had a common goal. When Robert glares at him, Alec glares back. He’s taller now, no longer cowed by the shame of childhood. It’s easier than ever to see that Alec’s father, for all the fear he induced, is just a man. Alec has dealt with too much to duck under the gaze of someone who isn’t, at the very least, a Prince of Hell. And even then.

“I think it will be good,” Robert says at last, “for Isabelle to gain some perspective.”

“She hates you, Dad,” Alec says. It isn’t malicious, or angry - just a cool, collected statement of fact. As innocuous as stating that the sky is blue, or that grass is green: Isabelle hates their father, and there’s no use in pretending otherwise. “As long as you keep doing this - treating her like she’s six years old and incapable of choosing what’s in her own best interests - that’s never going to change. If you want her to ‘gain some perspective’, whatever the _hell_ that means, you’re probably going to have to invest in some pretty serious family therapy, and dragging her to Idris to psych out a bunch of teenagers just to prove a point is a pretty piss-poor replacement.”

Alec thinks he might be yelling. Maybe he’s projecting a little, but it rings just as true for his sister as it does for him.

All Robert can say is, “Mundane therapy would be against the Law.”

“Figures,” Alec says. It’s all he can do not to spit it, but some part of him knows that this is still Isabelle’s birthday party, and he’s not going to be the asshole here. “If you want to prove you’ve changed, _really_ changed, you’ll leave Izzy out of this. Take Clary, or Jace, even - the whole rebel shtick sounds way more believable from him, anyway, and he’d actually enjoy being there. Just leave Isabelle alone. She’s contributed more than enough to the Clave for you to be able to give her a break.”

He can’t look at his father anymore, so he turns away and makes a beeline for Magnus and Isabelle, who have been joined by Jace and Clary. “I did my best,” he says to a tipsy Isabelle, “but it got kind of ugly.”

“‘Ts okay,” Isabelle slurs, and pats his shoulder lovingly. “You tried.”

*

“I’m going,” Isabelle says over the phone, because she really is terrible at greetings.

Alec splutters, spilling lukewarm coffee all over the kitchen counter. Magnus gives him a pitying look, and cleans up the mess with a click of his fingers. Alec appreciates the thought. “You’re kidding,” he finally manages out, drumming his nails on the now-clean countertop. “What did he say to you to get you to go? I swear on the Angel, Isabelle, I’ll-”  
“Nothing like that,” Isabelle says dismissively, because only Isabelle can summon the will to be dismissive so early in the morning. It’s half-talent, half supermodel _ennui._ “It’s the sunk cost fallacy. Enduring a week of hell is better than hearing Mom and Dad gripe about how selfish I am for the rest of my life.”

“I’m ninety percent sure that that’s not what the sunk cost fallacy is at all,” Alec remarks, because if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s being a smug older brother. “And that’s a really complicated way of saying _Simon_.”

There’s a long pause as Isabelle presumably sulks, and Magnus snorts as Alec rolls his eyes up to high heaven. Alec’s good at knowing when to tiptoe around the delicate subject of Simon Lewis, and when to address it outright; he knows he’s gotten it right when Isabelle says, “Alright, so maybe it is.”

“You wanted to open that letter,” Alec says.

“So badly,” she admits. “It’s basically self-flagellation at this point - don’t scoff, Jace isn’t the only one with a big vocabulary - but I just can’t shake the feeling that maybe this time it’ll be different. I don’t think he’ll remember me, or anything, but I think it’ll be worth doing Dad’s dirty work.”

“You could’ve told me this before I went off on Dad during your party,” Alec mutters, feeling somewhat petulant. His nascent relationship with his father is most likely completely shattered, not that he regrets it much. What he said still holds true, or most of it, anyway. He doesn’t think Isabelle’s relationship with Robert is one that can ever be fully repaired, not without some kind of impartial force, and it seems pretty clear that that’s never going to happen. Alec just hopes that Isabelle doesn’t end up murdering their father in some dank cellar in the depths of the Academy. “It would’ve saved me a lot of time.”

“He deserved it,” Isabelle says breezily. Another pause - this one heavier. “Everything you said - it was right. It was like you were reading my mind. I’m not really that good at expressing my feelings without stabbing somebody, so thank you. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alec waves her off. “You love me, I’m brilliant, you’d save me over Jace if we were both stuck in a burning building, I get it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Isabelle says, but there’s no venom in it. “I’m going to bring you back an armful of spiders.”

Alec hangs up immediately. 

(Some things should never be joked about.)

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> no i do NOT know what is up with ao3's formatting either i'm sorry :( pls comment if u liked! <3


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